


You Matter

by Missesbean



Category: Olympics RPF, Phlochte - Fandom, Real Person Fiction, Sports RPF, Swimming RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-08 08:48:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7751059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missesbean/pseuds/Missesbean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Rio 200 IM<br/>Ryan hurts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Matter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [estou_destimo7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/estou_destimo7/gifts), [CupcakeGirlA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CupcakeGirlA/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I own nothing but my ideas; I do not know the athletes, all I own are my ideas, and OCs. No infringement of any sort intended, this is purely for entertainment. All mistakes are my own. No beta.  
> No infringement of any-sort intended.If you are one of named individuals, or know said individuals, just turn back now. Simply a creative quest.

It hurt.  For the fourth time, it hurt like hell, but tonight, it hurt even more.  There was no podium time with Michael.  There was no picture, no silver, no bronze, nothing but a time sheet to document he was even in the race with Michael. 

 

He felt like he a has been, a never will be.  Until Michael left the spotlight, Ryan was almost certain that he would never even get the chance to just be  _“Ryan Lochte.”_   He was  _“Michael Phelps and Ryan Lochte, Rivals, Friends.”_  He was tired of being the second half.  For once, he wanted to be Ryan Lochte.  Olympic Medalist.    He wanted to matter. 

 

There were appearances to make now; a camera waiting for him at the end of the pool, and he didn’t want to do it.  He wanted to go back to his room.  _Their room._   The escape.  Go to sleep, just, not have to think about the world right now.  But that wasn’t an option.  There was a sense of responsibility that he had to meet right now.  He had to be  _“Michael Phelps’  Friendly Rival, Ryan Lochte,”_  and talk about how he felt regarding this race.  He couldn’t say he was heartbroken,  devastated, and felt like shit.  PR would have jumped down his throat, no matter how much that was what he felt. 

 

So, instead of complaining, he marched his little self over to the camera, and that woman, Michele? Tanya? He never could remember, and stood where expected, on the little  _x_  until they asked him his questions, and he was free to go. 

 

Time flew by; he got warmed down, massaged, changed, and checked out for the night.  He had appearances he was supposed to make, people he was supposed to talk too, but he was going to be late, and he was okay with that.  With his jacket on, one of MPs hats he’d swiped from his basket, and his headphones over his ears, he made the walk back to the village, skipping the bus.  He just needed some time to himself.  Ryan knew his family would be bothering him soon,  _she_ would want attention, and he wanted nothing more than to avoid it all. So that’s exactly what he did. 

 

* * *

 

Michael stood atop the podium, listening to the Anthem of the United States, with his face contorting; he was trying to not cry, not to let it all out right now. While there was so much happiness in his mind and heart, there was that devastation, that pain from the lack of Ryan by his side.    The media portrayed them as rivals, friends, but there was a deeper connection than met the surface.  So much more boiling under the surface.   A couple of hours, he told himself, he just had to make it a couple more hours, and he could go find Ryan.  Make sure he was okay; make sure that he was going to be there in the morning, not off on some horrible adventure.  He needed to make sure. 

 

He waved his family, friends, those watching him as he stepped off from the podium and was escorted to prepare for his semifinal.  Just a bit longer, and he could get out of here, he would be able to go find Ryan, to make sure that he was alright.  Maybe he was being a Nancy, worrying about Ryan, but this didn't feel right.  The fist bump didn't feel right, not in comparison to the jump Ryan gave when he slapped his ass in the ready room, this was, depressing.  

 

 

* * *

 

 

A few hours later, Michael got back to their room and didn't expect Ryan to be there.  Beissel mentioned that he had Seacrest tonight, so Mike expected it would just be him in the room, but he was wrong.  When he flicked the light switch on and Ryan was spread on top of his bed, headphones, the hat he was missing, and jacket still on, he realized what happened.  

 

He tossed his bag down on the floor and moved over to the bed quietly, peering down to see if he was awake.   **Doggy?** He asked quietly, reaching a hand down to rub Ryan's shoulder.     **"Ryan."**  Michael spoke his name softly, using that tone that was reserved for the sleeping swimmer.   **"I brought back some pudding. . .thought we could drop it on people when they walked by from the balcony,"**  he smirked, face turning serious though as Ryan turned his head away from Michael before speaking.  

 

 **"Lemme alone. Tired."**    He tried to brush Michael off, but with no chance.  Mike wasn't going to let it end like this tonight.  

 

The quote of not going to bed mad played through his mind, so instead of saying anything else, he reached up and pulled off the headphones, turning them off and setting them on the bedside table, not without protest from Ryan.  

 

 **"There's my hat,"**  he added with a chuckle, taking it off and tossing it to his own bed.  

 

 **"Take the damn hat,"**  Ryan spouted off, pulling his hood up.  He really was not in the mood for this tonight.  

 

 **"Ryan, c'mon, talk to me."**  He sighed softly, reaching a hand out to pull the hood down, rubbing at his blonde-blue hair.  The color brought a smile to his face, only Ryan.   

 

 **"Congrats, Goat.  I'm really happy for you,"**  Ryan turned to look at Michael, utmost sincere in his words.  He meant everyone that he had spoken; he and Michael both knew it.  

 

Sighing, Michael nodded,  **"Thank you. But it doesn't feel good."** He spoke softly, looking at him with a serious expression.   **"It's not the same when you're not there with me.  Feels like it doesn't matter."**

 

Ryan realized Mike wasn't going to leave him alone any time soon, and let out a big huff of a sigh and rolled onto his side before pushing up into a sitting position.  The Goat was going to talk now, and give him some motivational bullshit line, he could feel it.  They'd been down this road time and time again.  

 

He blinked his eyes and yawned, looking at Mike before gesturing with his hand,  **"Continue.  Gimme the bullshit now so I can go back to sleep and you can feel like you've brightened my spirits."**

 

Rolling his eyes Michael shook his head.   **"I'm not feeding you a line to make you feel better. . . I'm telling you the truth."** Rubbing a hand over his face, Michael pinched at the bridge of his nose.   **"It doesn't matter who else is in the pool, doesn't matter what meet, where we are, if you’re not there beside me, it doesn't matter."**

 

This time, it was Ryan who rolled his eyes at Michael.   **"Kay, cool story bro, but I'm really tired, I'm not superhuman Clark Kent or anything like that, so I'mma sleep now."** He huffed and wiggled back down on the bed, trying to get comfortable, but of course, Michael had something else to say.  

 

**"Bruce Wayne."**

 

 **"Huh?"** Ryan looked over at him. 

 

**"Batman?"**

 

 **"I know who Bruce Wayne is, Michael,"** he shook his head, annoyed now.  

 

**"I'm Bruce Wayne, you're Clark Kent, ergo, you’re Superman, I'm Batman."**

 

Ryan gave him a look as if he had six eyes on his face.   **"Ergo? Since when do you use, 'ergo?'"**

 

**"Since you're being a little punk and need a lesson on your identity."**

 

 **"I'm not doing this, Michael."**  He shook his head, rubbing at his temples.   **"To be honest, I'm frustrated, exhausted, and feeling like the world's biggest disappointment.  So if you could kindly take your high-horse to your own bed, kaithanks."**

 

Michael's jaw dropped as he looked at him.   **"My high-horse? I'm not on a high-horse here. . . I'm trying to tell you how much you matter to me, and you're being -"** he paused, unsure of how to finish.  

 

Ryan just gave him a pointed look.   **"Say it."** He knew what Michael wanted to say, he just was trying to play the 'nice guy' role.  

 

 **"You're being . . ."**  he paused. 

 

 **"Whiny? Selfish? Ridiculous? Immature? Irrelevant? Pointless?"** he listed off choices for Michael. 

 

**"Oh for fuck's sake, knock it off, Ryan. Now you're being a little shit and I don't have to pick another word."**

 

Ryan snorted and rolled over.  **"Kay, thanks for the talk. Night."**

 

Michael pulled him back over by the shoulder,  **"Oh, no no no, you're not getting off that easy."**

 

**"That's what she said. . . "**

He was about to say more when he realized what Ryan had said, and a smirk grew over his face, and he realized that Ryan was cracking, just a little bit.  He would take whatever he could get right now though.  A chuckle escaped as he looked at Ryan and shook his head.  **“You didn’t just go there. . .’**

 

 **“Afraid I did.”** He shrugged; he was notorious for being the ‘idiot’ of the team, why not let everyone continue to think that way. 

 

 **“Such a little shit,”** he shook his head and smacked at Ryan’s arm.  **“But, what I was saying, was that you matter.  I know you think “Oh, I’m just the second, but guess what, mothertrucker, you’re more than that. You fucking matter, so get off this act of poor me, and get your shit together, Ryan.  Get mad at me.  Get mad at everyone else, for the love of god, show something!”**

 

Ryan did the unthinkable, he grabbed the back of Michael’s neck and pulled him down tightly, pressing a hot kiss against his lips, surprising the younger man as he ran his hands through Michael’s hair, moaning softly into the kiss.  He pulled back for a moment, resting his forehead against Michael’s breath caught in his throat. 

 

Michael looked at him with wide eyes, **“What was that?”**

 

 **“Me showing something, you asshole,”** he laughed and shook his head.  **“Dude, you called me a mothertrucker . .. we have to get you out more.”**

 

 **“You just kissed me . . .”** he spoke in a soft voice. 

 

**“You said do something, show something, so I did, and now you’re going to act like this hasn’t been a thing for the past twelve years, and make me feel like an idiot, aren’t you?”**

 

Michael didn’t respond though, instead, he pushed Ryan back and kissed him to his heart’s content, running his fingers through Ryan’s hair.  As he pulled back, breathlessly, he rubbed his nose against Ryan’s and spoke, softly.  **“You so matter, Ryan.”**

**“I know, just, don’t ever call me a mothertrucker again.”** He shook his head with a sigh and kissed Michael once more.   All it took, was for him to know, he mattered. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think! <3


End file.
